I suddenly see that it can be no different,
that we will continue to hate and maim each other, that under-
carriages will continue to rust out at an alarming
rate, that our plots will continue to develop,
climax and resolve with predictable
regularity. We begin with landfalls and end
with landfills and toxic dumps.

Afflictions without number come out of what remain
of those first spring days and parade themselves along the shore,
the air of promise decomposing before our eyes.
We resolve to become more human and that
only adds to our woes. We remove our shoes and socks
and roll our trousers to our knees, but even then, when we get
home--dried salt and rust.

Sarah and Michael eat chocolate and ashes, whenever
they can find them. They cannot forget or forgive whoever has
hurt them most. Churchbells argue one sort of resolution
they refuse to accept, and their collective trajectory
takes them out beyond Art and History, all the way
to Land's End, and there they stand on the rugged promontory
looking out through the fog at the heaving, shifting sea.